The Dins of the Fathers
by girlyghoul
Summary: John's in a strange AU Hell, trapped for Eternity with a bunch of TV & Movie Dads. Now he's left to ponder all the mistakes he made with Sam and Dean; he's having odd dreams of being Ward Cleaver & there's a pack of wild Hell Labradoodles on his trail!
1. Chapter 1

SUMMARY: John Winchester winds up in a strange alternative place in Hell reserved for not so great Dads. There he meets many other famous fathers, both good and bad, while he ponders all the mistakes he made in raising Sam and Dean.

This is a comedy for the most part. But there is also plenty of angst and sentimental moments as John thinks back on his life. It's John centric naturally, but Sam and Dean make an appearance in later Chapters.

Takes place immediately after Season 2's "In My Time of Dying" and follows through to "All Hell Breaks Loose Pt.2" (with a nod to "Jump the Shark" at the end)

Warnings: Some cuss words. Nothing you wouldn't hear on the show.

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. ANY of these guys.

* * *

THE DINS OF THE FATHERS

The deal was made. His soul was damned. But John Winchester had no fear of Hell.

After a lifetime of horrors, what torments could the Powers of Darkness possibly subject him to that he hadn't faced a thousand times before? Fully accepting his fate, he released his final breath, ready to take on anything he might encounter in the fiery abyss.

"Do your worst, you bastards!" was his last mortal thought…

******

"Eww! What smells like wet dog?" was his first immortal thought.

He found himself laying facedown on an under stuffed and over stained mattress- probably the most uncomfortable thing he had laid on since Marine Boot Camp. Blinking with confusion, he pushed himself up to take in his surroundings.

He was in a tiny aluminum trailer. It was smaller than most of the motel rooms he'd frequented throughout his life and much more claustrophobic. Even the nights he'd spent sleeping in the Impala with both his sons and all their weapons hadn't felt as stifling as this space did.

He stood up from the smelly mattress and instantly found himself in the kitchen. There was a hot plate and a rusty toaster oven, neither of which looked operational.

The shoebox sized sink was close to overflowing from its leaky, lime stained faucet. John automatically rolled up his sleeve to try and unclog the drain, but then thought better about plunging his hand into the alarmingly brown water.

A miniature counter top fridge caught his attention next. The handle fell off when he attempted to open it the first time. His efforts to pry the door away rewarded him with only a bottle of mustard and some moldy ice trays.

Shaking his head in dismay he turned to explore the back end of the trailer.

There he pulled aside a tattered curtain to find a dripping shower head standing a few inches too short for his height. A quick glance through the mud spattered window to the Port-A-Potty outside answered his next question.

John struggled against the panic threatening to overtake the very core of his being. A Lake of Fire and the eternal stench of Brimstone he'd been prepared for. But this?

"Hell is worse than I ever imagined!" he shuddered.

Winchester tenacity soon overcame trepidation and he ventured outside to explore his terrifying new world.

His circumstances didn't improve once he had left the decrepit trailer. The view wasn't much better and the smell was much worse. He saw other trailers, similar to his own situated along a muddy dirt road dotted with patches of dead grass. Dense, decaying trees blocked out the sunlight casting a deep gloom over the entire area.

Down the road to the left, he saw a broken down fence, across which seemed to be a swamp land. No doubt the source of the foul odor. He could make out several dilapidated shacks in this swampy area, but couldn't tell if they were occupied or not. There were also a few structures made out of mud- or at least what he hoped was mud. He thought he could hear a light tapping sound coming from the mud house closest to the fence, but it was difficult to tell over the buzz of swarming insects and croaking frogs.

To the right was a sturdy chain-linked fence. Beyond this he could see rolling hills of lush green grass beneath a clear blue sky. Sunlight was beaming down upon the inhabitants on the other side of the fence. There were large stately houses, mansions and what looked like a castle off in the distance. A cool breeze blew past him from this direction, and the scent of fresh lilac and newly blooming jasmine briefly overwhelmed the stench from the swamp.

John cautiously approached the barrier separating the two worlds. If that was Heaven, they needed a better security system. The fence didn't look that hard to scale.

Just as he was about to stage an ethereal break in, a huge ball of mud flew through the air and struck him in the back of the head.

"HA HA HA!" he heard his assailant bellow, "Eat mud, Flanders!"

He whirled around to see an overweight, middle aged bald man with bright yellow skin bending down to scoop up another ball of mud.

"The name's Winchester!" he announced, slowly fuming as mud dripped down from his hair.

"Winchester?" the bright yellow man looked up with his tongue sticking half out of his mouth, "Like the hot dog sauce?"

"Like the rifle!" John glowered.

"Oh!" the man grinned sheepishly, "Sorry, Mr. Winchester. Sometimes when I get bored, I like to hock mud at Flanders's House."

He hurled another mud ball, this time striking the trailer and denting its flimsy aluminum door.

"Yes! Take that, Flanders!... oh no wait! This is the Winchester Residence! I keep forgetting I'm in a new neighborhood."

"Neighborhood?" John struggled to absorb this information, "What's going on? Where am I, anyway? I thought I died and crossed over to my Eternal resting place."

"Oh you did," someone spoke up from behind him, "You're pretty much stuck here for Eternity."

John turned to see a trio of men walking up to him.

One was about his age, sloppily dressed and sporting a pained, almost constipated expression. The other two were older: a grey haired black man with a barreled chest that strained against his worn suspenders and a pudgy faced white fellow with a receding hairline and a cigar fixed firmly in his smirking lips.

They eyed John with casual indifference as he tried to make sense his situation.

"Welcome to the Father Land, Sonny," the black man said, shaking his hand, "I'm Fred Sanford. This here's Al Bundy, Archie Bunker, and that ignoramus who just now broke your window is Homer Simpson."

John looked back to see that the portly yellow man had indeed just hurled a mud ball straight through the trailer's only window.

"Stupid Flanders! Think you're so much better than me with your fancy trailer and your snooty doormat that says 'Winchester' instead of 'Flanders'!"

John decided to ignore the damage for the time being and turned his attention back to the seemingly saner men.

"I'm John Winchester," he said.

"Yeah, we know," Bundy said, idly picking at his teeth.

"We heard all about dem ghosts and bugaboos and demons you been huntin' and that deal you made that got you sent down here," Bunker said, puffing on his cigar, "Kind of a pansy assed way to go out, doncha think? Just handing yourself over to the one guy you been after all dem years."

"I had my reasons," John gritted his teeth, "But... you called this place 'The Father Land'. Are you telling me I'm not in Hell?"

"I don't know that I'd call it Hell exactly," Sanford said, "But I ain't gonna lie to you. This place is a dump! Have a seat and we'll try to explain."

He motioned to a set of lawn chairs arranged near a neighboring trailer. They each took a seat and John had to stifle his irritation as Simpson joined them.

"We call this place 'The Father Land' 'cause that's what all the folks around here are," Sanford continued.

"No women in other words," Bunker interjected.

"Yeah and no sonsabitches lucky enough not to have kids," Bundy snorted.

"Hee. No fat chicks!" Simpson said randomly, and then realized everyone was glaring at him, "Sorry…"

"Also, all that matters around here is what kind of father you were," Sanford went on, "The Powers that Be…whoever they are…either reward you or punish you all depending on how you treated your kids."

"Ain't it a kick in the teeth," Bundy groused, "It's because of your rotten kids that you can't enjoy your life. And then when you finally kick the bucket and get away from them, it turns out you can't even enjoy your death!"

"I'm sorry," John shook his head, "But none of this explains how I wound up here."

"Well, you're a father, ain't ya?" Bunker sneered.

"Yes..."

"And not a very good one either or else you wouldn't be down here with us!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" John snapped.

"The good fathers wind up over there," Bunker jerked his thumb at the enticing landscape beyond the chain linked fence, "That's where you got your Cleavers, your Huxtables, your Ingles, your Andy Griffiths..."

"Atticus Finch lives in that big castle at the top of the hill," Sanford added, then motioned to the swamp, "Over there you got the real scum bags: The Tony Sopranos, Lionel Luthers, Huck Finn's 'Pap', and such. The ones that really made a mess of their kids' lives."

"Then you got us poor schlubs here," Bundy leaned back, resting his hand in the front of his pants, "The ones who busted their humps and suffered all their miserable lives but just didn't cut the mustard in the 'Daddy' Department."

"Mmmmm..... mustard....." Simpson drooled.

John found himself even more confused. He'd come to realize that it was never part of the Yellow Eyed Demon's plan for him to wind up in this strange place. But whoever or whatever had blessedly spared him from the Demon's true intentions had still made a grievous error in judgment.

"If what you're telling me is true," he began, "Then there's been a mistake. I was a good father! I loved my sons! My entire existence revolved around protecting them from the forces of Evil! There was nothing I wouldn't do for them, even at the cost of my very soul!"

"None of that matters," Bundy shrugged, "The standards are too high. They take points off for every little mistake you make."

"How so?"

"Like get this," Bunker spat, "I loved my little girl, Gloria. I worked hard, I provided for her. But I call that Liberal windbag husband of hers 'Meathead' one too many times and now they got me livin' in a van down by the river!"

"Yeah, and they get mad at you for stuff like if you sit on your kids' dollhouse or strangle them or spend their college fund on donuts." Simpson said, "That's how I wound up in The Simpson Chateau."

He pointed to the structure beside John's trailer.

"That's a dog house!" John observed.

"Dog Chateau!" Simpson corrected.

"But I never did anything like what you're describing," John stated honestly, "I never called my sons names or broke their toys or physically harmed them… wait… being possessed at the time doesn't count does it?"

"Probably."

"Damn!" John winced, "And ok, so maybe I did spend their college funds on ammo, but it didn't make a difference in the long run. My Sam still managed to get in on full scholarship and his brother Dean was content to stay in the family business."

"Trust me," Sanford said, "The Powers that Be don't like that 'staying in the family business' crap. That's exactly what got me here. Every time my son wanted to quit the junk dealership, I'd fake a heart attack and guilt him into staying put… Actually, you should have tried that, Winchester. If you'd just grabbed your chest a couple times and said: "I'm comin', Mary! It's the Big One!" your boy never woulda left for Stanford!"

"But that's the whole point, Dingus," Bunker sassed, "You ain't supposed to do stuff like that. Yer supposed to support your kids' wishes and dreams and all."

"You're right! You're right!" Sanford broke down sobbing, "Oh, Lamont! What have I done! The Big One came and it landed me here!"

"I choked on a Gummy Bear," Simpson mused as the other men tried to comfort Sanford.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dins of the Fathers: Chapter 2, in which poor John Winchester gets a verbal smack down from some other famous dads.

Potential Spoiler Alert: References to "Something Wicked" and "In my Time of Dying" in this Chapter as well as brief mentions of "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and "Jump the Shark".

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own any of these characters.

* * *

Previously-

"_But that's the whole point, Dingus," Bunker sassed, "You ain't supposed to do stuff like that. Yer supposed to support your kids' wishes and dreams and all."_

"_You're right! You're right!" Sanford broke down sobbing, "Oh, Lamont! What have I done! The Big One came and it landed me here!"_

"_I choked on a Gummy Bear," Simpson mused as the other men tried to comfort Sanford._

* * *

John scratched at his beard stubble as he watched the older man weep with remorse.

He'd never been so openly manipulative to get his boys to do as he wished. He'd just barked orders and expected them to be followed. That had always been his way and the best way he knew to keep them all safe and on track. They were on a mission after all and there was no room for compromise when it came to hunting evil.

But now he remembered all the arguments and harsh words over the years. The bitter disillusionment he saw on his sons' faces as they grew to realize their lives would never be normal and the hunt would never end. His heart sank knowing they had both yearned for a life that he just couldn't provide for them.

But given their circumstances, how could he have done any differently?

"I guess I can't say that I was very supportive of my sons' dreams either," he reluctantly admitted, "But our lives were... complicated. There were evil forces surrounding us at all times and fighting off that evil had to come first. I mean, isn't that part of being a good father? Helping your kids set priorities?"

He looked at the other men's blank faces and felt his frustration rise. Was he really stuck here with this bunch for all Eternity?

Just then, he heard a rustling through the trees above. Before he could look up, something hard and round fell from the sky and beaned him right on the noggin.

"Sonofabitch!" he cursed, leaping up and kicking the lawn chair away.

How many times today was he going to be struck in the head by random flying objects?

Whirling around, he quickly spotted the latest culprit: a golf ball lying in the mud at his feet. It had come from somewhere beyond the chain linked fence.

"Fore!" someone called out belatedly.

"Oh great!" Bunker snorted, "These guys!"

John watched as a golf cart pulled up to the fence carrying four well-groomed, affluent looking men. They all wore Polo shirts with the words "Eternal Estates" emblazoned in gold over their moniker and barely acknowledged the presence of the other men as they ambled out searching for their ball.

With ill-contained fury, John picked up the offending object, rolling it between his fingers as he fixed the new comers with a steely glare.

"Looking for this?" he asked in a low growl.

"I'd say you're out of bounds, Tanner!" a man with a bad perm and name 'Mike Brady' etched on his shirt chortled.

"It wound up on the wrong side of the fence." Danny Tanner whined. "I call a do over!"

"Too bad there are no 'do overs' for everything that winds up on the wrong side of the fence," an older man by the name of Howard Cunningham said as he looked pointedly at John, "Eh, Winchester?"

John was taken aback.

"How do you know me...?"

"We get the newsletter," a chubby man named Philip Banks said off handedly, "Read all about you before you got down here. It's a shame, really, where you wound up. We could have used a man with your skills on our side to help keep the riff raff out."

"Oh, please!" Brady sneered, "It was obvious from the get go he was never our sort!"

"And what exactly is your sort?" John seethed, wishing for all the world he had his trusty sawed off filled with buckshot at his side.

"Good fathers," Brady said shortly, "The kind who provide a loving, stable home for their kids. Not the kind who drag them all over the country side hunting down werewolves and warlocks and what have you."

"Yeah, and not the kind who leave their young children alone for days on end with nothing to eat but Spaghetti-O's and Lucky Charms," Cunningham sniffed.

"Not the kind who skip out on Christmas while they're off tracking down some elusive Chupacabra." Banks added.

"Or who miss their son's birthday while they're holed up with some skanky nurse in Minnesota!" Tanner blurted out, "Oh yeah! You heard right! I went there!"

"BOO YAH!" Banks shouted, chest bumping Tanner.

John grimaced as the men all laughed and high fived each other.

"Look," he sighed, "I'll be the first to admit, I wasn't perfect. But I did what I had to do. My sons knew the score. We were never going to have some wholesome, apple pie existence. Not after that Demon targeted our family, destroyed our home and took the boys' mother away. Can any of you tell me you how you would have reacted if it was your wife you found pinned and gutted over your head, being burned alive before your very eyes?"

John heard someone tittering behind him and spun around to see Al Bundy leaning back with a big goofy grin on his face.

"Something funny?" John snapped.

"Oh, sorry," Bundy said with a dreamy sigh, "I was just picturing my wife Peg stuck to the ceiling, bursting into flames. Ahh… if only…"

John's fists clenched with rage but he forced himself to turn his attention away from the moron behind him as he realized he was being addressed by a man at the fence.

"You know, I can sympathize to a certain extent," Tanner said sincerely, "I lost my wife in a tragic accident as well and was left to raise three little girls all by myself. But it's really not that hard to be a good father even in the worst of circumstances. You just have to make sure your kids have their teeth brushed, their chores finished, get your best friend and brother-in-law to help deal with the chaos and all of your troubles will be solved in about a half an hour!"

John didn't know whether to laugh or vomit as the man beamed at him with a toothy, oblivious smile.

"And if a Shtriga climbed in your window and started sucking the life force out of your daughters- do you think you could have solved that in about a half an hour?"

Tanner frowned, perplexed.

"I guess I would have let their Uncle Jesse deal with that one," he mumbled, "Helping the girls with their homework was more my territory."

"My point exactly," John said gruffly, "You had no idea what was really out there. The nightmares I faced every day of my life. Maybe I didn't get to spend much time with my sons as they were growing up, but lives were at stake. I had to go above and beyond to stop as many evil things as I could to protect nice, happy, clueless families just like yours."

"Oh, come down off your high horse, Winchester!" Cunningham scoffed, "So you got to play the Knight in Shining Black Chevy for other people's families. Meanwhile, your own children were left alone and vulnerable while this Shtriga thing was lurking about."

"Yeah, don't think the Newsletter didn't mention that!" Banks spat, "What were you thinking, man?"

John began shifting his feet and rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

"I…I wouldn't say I left them vulnerable…exactly," he said, swallowing hard "I put my older son in charge and gave him a shotgun…"

"Who puts that much responsibility on a 9 year old kid?" Brady roared, "I never would have dreamed of handing my Greg a shotgun at that age and telling him to watch out for Marsha, Peter, Jan, Bobby and Cindy... not unless our maid Alice was around to supervise."

"But you don't know my Dean," John insisted, "He was a really good shot even back then...I thought he could handle the situation…"

"Oh, sure," Banks rolled his eyes, "Watching his little brother get attacked by some big ass witch with rotted skin and giant claw-like hands… Yeah, that's not at all tramatic for a young boy. Any child could handle that situation. Go you!"

John paled at the memory.

"You're right," he sighed, "It was a mistake… a big one… one of many I made… But I tried to learn from my mistakes and make it up to my boys over the years."

"The Powers that Be keep track of stuff like that though," Tanner said, "I mean, why do you think you wound up in such a lousy neighborhood with such a crummy trailer?"

"Yep, that's how it works around here, old sport," Brady said smugly, "If you'd been a better father, you would have gotten a better place to spend Eternity. See that big mansion up the hill? That's what they give you for raising six kids, teaching them right from wrong and putting each and every one of them through college… You know rather than disowning them for choosing Higher Education over monster hunting."

"Oh no you didn't!" Tanner snickered, "You so bad, Brady!"

John felt his blood boiling as the men once again high fived each other in a mocking dance at his expense.

"Another mistake. I admit it," he grumbled, "But Sam and I made our peace about that whole mess and all was forgiven in the end."

"I think the Powers that Be would have at least set you up with a working stove and a shower faucet that didn't drip if all was forgiven," Cunningham retorted.

"Who are these Powers that Be anyway?" John wanted to know, "And how does anyone wind up on your side of the fence at all if their rules are so strict and there's no way to redeem yourself?"

"Oh, I don't know that their rules are so strict," Banks said, "They could have taken me to task for spoiling my own kids rotten. But I got major Brownie points for taking in my wayward nephew Will… excuse me… 'Fresh Prince'. We're talking Olympic sized heated pool Brownie points."

"Oh yeah, being a father figure to someone other than your own children? They love that around here," Cunningham said, "Like when I mentored a young leather clad hooligan named Arthur Fonzarelli… excuse me 'The Fonz'. I gave him a home over my garage and now get to enjoy Eternity with my own indoor tennis court."

"See, you could have redeemed yourself as a father to someone else's kids even if you screwed up royally with your own." Tanner nodded.

"Didn't Sam and Dean have a Cousin Oliver you could have looked after for a summer?" Brady asked, "That might have at least earned you a nice little ranch house instead of a dented aluminum trailer."

John shook his head in disbelief at the madness of it all.

"You know, for all my mistakes as a father, the whole reason I'm down here in the first place is because Dean was at death's door and I traded my soul and my own life in exchange for his! Doesn't that count for something around here?"

"Right after you made that deal for Dean you told him he might have to kill his own brother!" Banks snapped.

"That's why your sink is clogged!" Tanner announced.

"And you left those poor young men to face the Demon all by themselves without you and without the Colt. On top of that they're carrying around so much angst and guilt over your death." Cunningham shook his head.

"That's why you have no indoor toilet!" Tanner added.

John bowed his head. As much as he hated to admit these smarmy men were right he still felt like crawling into the swamp and digging himself a hole to spend the rest of Eternity in. He really had made a mess of things with his boys. But even through it all, there was one thing he couldn't regret…

"I know my boys are alone and hurting now," he said, "But I also know, because of me, they're strong and they'll survive. If nothing else, I raised them to be fighters and they'll go on fighting. They'll continue to hunt down every evil thing that crosses their paths and save as many innocent people as they can. They may even save one of your snotty nosed brats someday. The world is a safer place with them in it and so I know I did that much right as a father."

"Eh, whatever," Brady shrugged, "Bottom line, Winchester, you're not welcome at the Country Club."

"Yeah, we've only got one space left," Tanner teased, "And that's reserved for Bobby Singer!"

John growled and charged at the fence, causing the men to jump back startled.

"Let's go!" Tanner yelped.

"Smell ya later, Johnny Boy!" Banks called out as they all raced towards the golf cart.

"And don't even think about trying to trespass over here!" Brady warned, "We've got Guard Dogs! More ferocious and terrifying than anything thing you could ever imagine!"

"What? Hell Hounds?" John asked.

"Hell Labradoodles!" Cunningham shot back, "They'll drag you straight into the Pit and look fashionably adorable while doing so!"

The men leapt back into their golf cart and sped away. John was left pondering whether leaping the fence and kicking all their asses was worth risking the wrath of the Hell Labradoodles.

"Trust me, it's not worth it," a voice spoke from behind him. "Those manicured claws really leave a mark!"

John turned to see an older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard casually strolling his way.

The man spoke with a mild Scottish accent and had an air of genuine class that separated him from the rude snobbery of the four he had just met. And yet, John couldn't help but notice that his latest acquaintance was standing on his side of the fence.

"It's never fun to be the new guy, is it?" the man asked giving John a friendly smile, "I thought you might like to stop by my house for a spot of tea… though I'm afraid freeze dried instant is the best I have to offer."

"A beer would be nice right about now," John chuckled.

"HA! Good luck finding such a fine beverage on this side of the tracks," the man laughed, then extended his hand, "The name's Jones, by the way. Dr. Henry Jones, Sr."


	3. Chapter 3

Potential Spoilers: References to "Everybody Loves a Clown" and "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"… yes really. There's a reference to another certain movie as you will see. But it's one that's so deeply lodged in Pop Culture I don't think it could count as a spoiler.

DISCLAIMER- I don't own any of these characters. And some of them I wouldn't want to own anyway.

This was originally one long chapter that I decided to break up into two smaller ones. So yay! It's a two for one deal!

* * *

_Previously-_

"_It's never fun to be the new guy, is it?" the man asked giving John a friendly smile, "I thought you might like to stop by my house for a spot of tea… though I'm afraid freeze dried instant is the best I have to offer."_

"_A beer would be nice right about now," John chuckled._

"_HA! Good luck finding such a fine beverage on this side of the tracks," the man laughed, then extended his hand, "The name's Jones, by the way. Dr. Henry Jones, Sr."_

* * *

After the verbal lashing he'd endured earlier, John was grateful to find himself seated in the living room of Dr. Jones's humble abode, even if his tea sucked. The tiny cottage was sparsely furnished and drafty as all get out. But compared to his new digs, Dr. Jones lived in a palace.

"You've got a nice place here," he said with sincere admiration.

The roof began to leak the instant the compliment had passed from his lips but Dr. Jones simply retrieved a rusty pan from beneath the couch and placed it directly under the drip.

"It has its moments," the older man stated, "I suppose I can't complain too much about the house, but as you have seen, it's in a lousy neighborhood."

"How is the roof leaking?" John wondered, "It's not even raining outside!"

"The Powers that Be," Dr. Jones explained wryly, "Have quite a sense of humor about these things. They can get very creative when it comes to doling out punishments."

"Who are these jokers anyway?" John asked.

His hunter's mind had been working overtime ever since he landed in this bizarre new world. If he could just figure out who or what these mysterious "Powers that Be" were, maybe he could actually do something to stop them from toying with people's lives… or Afterlives at any rate. Damn it, but he wished he still had the Colt!

"I have not a clue," Dr. Jones sighed, sipping at his tepid tea "My theory is that we've landed ourselves in a special circle of Hell that Dante and his ilk never bothered to write about. Otherwise, I'm sure I would have stumbled upon a reference in my studies and been forewarned."

"I hear ya," John said, "For all my knowledge of Demon lore; this isn't exactly how I pictured the Afterlife either. But if you don't mind me saying, you really don't strike me as the kind of guy who would wind up in a place like this regardless."

Dr. Jones nodded solemnly, blotting at his mouth with a raggedly napkin.

"In my life, I was an accomplished scholar and highly respected member of society. But as a father? Well, I'm afraid I fell quite short of the mark. My boy Henry Jr., or 'Indiana' as he preferred to be called, was a world renowned archeologist and adventurer. The kind of son any father would be proud of. But I was too wrapped up in my pursuit of the Holy Grail to give him the time of day. I was… single mindedly obsessed I guess you could say. Sound familiar?"

"Yes, I think I can relate," John said, chagrined.

"After his mother passed, I thought it was enough that I gave Junior a well rounded education and trained him to be self-sufficient. Unfortunately, he didn't agree. We made amends in later years, but I suppose it was too little too late for the Powers that Be. Their standards are rather…"

"Impossible," John finished with a snort.

"You can say that again," Dr. Jones chuckled, "And yet… looking back now I wonder. As driven as I was in my Crusade, would it have been so very difficult to devote just a bit more time to my son? A bit more attention… a bit more encouragement… a bit of sympathy whenever he would start screaming like a little girl because he saw a snake in the yard. Just that extra bit of effort could have made all the difference in his life… and mine as well."

John squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head. There was gnawing ache building in the pit of his stomach that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the nasty tea he'd been drinking.

"I really blew it didn't I?" he let out a long shuddering sigh, "The Demon came into our lives and the only thing I cared about was revenge. I was so bitter about all that had been taken away from me that I lost sight of what I still had- two great sons who needed their father, not the tyrannical task master I became. I told myself at the time that I had to be hard- that my boys had to be tough and strong enough to face what was out there in the dark. But like you said, as much as I needed them to be warriors, I still could have put more effort into being a Dad."

He stood up and began to pace about the tiny room. The water warped floor boards were creaking under his feet and he almost willed them to crack open and swallow him whole.

"I should have given them more of my time and attention," he continued, "I should have given them more freedom to pursue their own interests. Hell, at the very least, I should have given them a heads up about the deal I made. Now they're on their own, left to face this Yellow Eyed Demon without me. And I'm stuck down here with no way of knowing what they're going through or whether or not they're all right!"

"Actually," Dr. Jones said suddenly, "You do have a way!"

John blinked in confusion as the older man leapt up from the couch, hurried over to a small cluttered desk and began riffling through some old papers.

"Ah! Here we are!" he said finally, holding up a folded newspaper, "The latest edition!"

He handed the paper to John who frowned in puzzlement at the bold title AFTER WORLD WEEKLY NEWS then went on to read the front page headline:

"Peter Brady Weds Super Model…"

"No, no," Dr. Jones said, "Further down the page."

John skimmed until he found the article in question.

"Winchester Brothers Take on Case of Killer Clown!" John gasped, looking up at the other man in amazement.

"The Powers that Be put out this newspaper so we can keep up with our off spring," Jones informed him beaming with glee, "I believe their original intent was to give those priggish bastards over in Eternal Estates more dirt to rub in our noses. But for me personally, it's been quite a comfort to read about Junior's continuing adventures."

"It says here that my boys stumbled upon a Rakshasa that was disguising itself as a clown to prey on families with small children." John read on eagerly, "Poor Sammy must have been freaking out! He hates clowns… Oh, and they met the Harvelles. There's a can of worms… Wait! Dean's been rebuilding the Impala? I didn't think it was possible after the crash! I'm so proud of him! I'm so proud of them both!"

John crumpled the paper suddenly as that familiar gnawing ache crept back into his gut.

"I should have told them that more often," he said, quietly, "I should have told them that every single day of their lives!"

Dr. Jones offered John a soothing pat on the back.

"We all have regrets," the older man sighed, "While we're alive, we think we have all the time in the world for such things."

"I should have known better," John admitted, "With my lifestyle, I faced death almost every day. But I still lost focus of what mattered most."

"Don't be too hard on yourself." Dr. Jones said, "I read about some of the things you faced. What horrors! Lousy father or not, I have to admire your fortitude. A lesser man would have been driven stark raving mad…"

At that very moment there was the sound of wood being forcefully split. John spun around in time to see an axe chopping its way through the front door!

Instinctively, he reached around his back for a gun that was no longer there as the leering unshaven face of the axe wielding lunatic appeared suddenly in the freshly cut hole.

"HEEEEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY!" the man called out.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Same as it ever was.

* * *

John stood gaping at the insane visage pressed against the splintered wood of the front door.

"Damnation, Torrance!" Dr. Jones shouted at his visitor, "Can't you ever just knock!"

The obviously unbalanced man reached through the hole he had just made and turned the door knob to let himself in.

"I need more paper, Jones!" Torrance demanded, "The novel's really coming along now!"

"Fine. Have all you want if it'll keep you occupied and off my property!" Dr. Jones huffed, "Excuse me, John. I'll be back momentarily."

He walked off towards the back of the cottage leaving his guests to stare at one another in awkward silence. Torrance twitched uncomfortably under John's scrutinizing glare, running his free hand through his oil slicked hair as he absently twirled his axe in the other. He held a large stack of stained and crumpled manuscript pages under his arm that he squeezed tightly to his chest as he studied John with paranoid intensity.

It was John who finally broke the tension.

"I'm John Winchester," he said, warily extending his hand.

"Jack Torrance," the man said, pressing his sweaty palm into the offered hand.

His beetle-like eyebrows furrowed suddenly.

"Wait a minute…" he muttered, "Winchester? _The_ John Winchester? Hunter of demons, spirits and things that go 'bump' in the night?"

"That's me," said John, "Or was me…"

"Well, let me ask you this, pal!" Torrance snapped, "Would it have been too much trouble for you and your boys to de-ghost the Overlook Hotel before it had to go and ruin my life? I swear… I just get a little tense one night and go on a teensy weensy murderous rampage against my wife and son and BOOM! Next thing ya know, I'm down here in Swampville living in an igloo made entirely out of dung!"

John gritted his teeth, taking his hand back and wiping it off on the back of his jeans.

"Just take your paper and go," Jones returned shoving a ream into Torrance's hands.

"Thanks buddy!"

Torrance ogled the blank pages before turning to back to John with an inspired grin.

"You can be my Beta!" he announced, dumping his completed manuscript into John's arms.

He then spun on his heel, heaved his axe and chopped down the rest of the door to make his exit. John watched him scamper away down the muddied path before turning his attention to the pages in his hands. The "novel" consisted of nothing but the words: "Alcohol, anger and axe wielding make Jack a bad dad!" repeated over and over again.

He chucked the manuscript in a nearby waste basket then bent down to gather up the broken pieces of Dr. Jones's door.

"Oh, just leave it," the Professor uttered, "Powers that Be willing, it'll be replaced tomorrow… for Mr. Torrance to break down again. Lousy, lousy neighborhood! Ah, if only…"

John stood by silently as the older man bowed his head and pursed his lips with self-rebuke.

"It really wouldn't have taken that much," Dr. Jones sighed, "A father/son picnic here, a game of catch there. If I'd just once said: 'I'm proud of you, son! Nice job dodging that boulder!' things would have been better. I might have even earned a nice two-story in the Suburbs. Just to wake up to the sight of green grass and the scent of fresh flowers. It would be so nice…"

The Professor chuckled sheepishly.

"And on that overwrought note I think I shall turn in for the night."

"Oh…" John began, his eyes trailing to the splintered wood and muddy foot prints scattered about the floor, "Are you sure you don't want help cleaning this mess up? I don't mind…"

He was stalling and they both knew it. He liked Dr. Jones and didn't want the man to think of him as one of the local moochers. But he also did not want to go back to that cramped malodorous trailer he now called home.

"Look, I really don't want to impose on you," he swallowed his pride, "But could I sleep on your couch? Just for one night?"

"You may," Dr. Jones said to his relief, "However I must warn you the Powers that Be are very strict in their living assignments. You're welcome to go to sleep on my sofa any night you wish. But when you wake up in the morning you'll find yourself exactly where they think you deserve to be. Goodnight, Mr. Winchester."

"Goodnight Dr. Jones."

He waited until the older man had retired to his bedroom before sitting down and wringing his hands through his hair. How could this be happening to him? After everything he had gone through, how could it all boil down to this?

He picked up the newspaper and ran his hand over the article about his sons as if doing so could somehow reconnect him to Sam and Dean. He missed them so much.

He glanced over at some of the articles about other people's children.

The yahoos over at Eternal Estates, their kids had it so good. They were living perfect, happy little lives even as his boys were facing killer clowns, pissed off Harvelle women and the ever encroaching menace of the Yellow Eyed Demon and his mysterious plan. But then, as far as he could tell, their kids had always had it good. They'd grown up with the kinds of problems that could be solved in half an hour.

It was an overly naïve way of life the hunter in him felt nothing but contempt for. And yet, the father in him wished more than anything it was a life he could have given Sam and Dean.

He sighed and lay down on the couch. He didn't want to go to sleep, knowing that when he woke up he would no longer be in this cozy home, but suddenly he felt very tired.

If only the Yellow Eyed Demon hadn't targeted his family. If only his sweet Mary had lived to raise the boys with him. If only they had lived in a world with no real problems or paranormal threats. Their lives would have been perfect then.

"I would have been a perfect father!" was his last thought before sleep overtook him.

*********

"MMM! Apple Pie!" was his first thought upon waking.

He found himself lying in a king sized bed with a freshly laundered comforter pulled up to his chin. Sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window, illuminating his familiar surroundings. He knew this room. And he knew it was exactly where he deserved to be!

Happily he stood up and stretched, taking in the serene view of blue sky and green grass outdoors. The sound of birds chirping and a distant lawn mower cheered him to the depths of his soul.

"Another perfect day in Lawrence, Kansas!" he exclaimed.

The blissful aroma of cinnamon and baked apples drew him down the stairs and into the kitchen where he was greeted by the most perfect sight…

"Mary!"

_to be continued…_

* * *

**Author's note: DUN! DUN! DUN!**

**P.S. You better stay tuned. You better not cry. You better not pout, I'm telling you why… Sam and Dean are coming next chapter!**

**Reviews are like cookies left for Santa… or evil Pagan gods!**


	5. Chapter 5

Major Spoiler Alert: For "All Hell Breaks Loose Pts. 1 & 2" and "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" of all things.

Warnings: GORE! Glorious Gore! (Nothing you wouldn't see on the show) And a cuss word at the end. I toned it down to keep it K+ though.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters.

* * *

_Previously:_

"_Another perfect day in Lawrence, Kansas!" he exclaimed._

_The blissful aroma of cinnamon and baked apples drew him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he was greeted by the most perfect sight…_

"_Mary!" _

* * *

There his wife stood, beautifully radiant as always. Her blond hair was swept into an elegant up do and her neatly pressed dress matched her sparkling eyes. She was such a vision that John hardly cared how odd it was to find her wearing high heels and her best pearls while baking.

"Good morning, dear!" she said, smiling as she lifted a steaming pie out of the oven, "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in 23 years!" John said, pulling his beloved into a bone crushing embrace.

He held her close, luxuriating in the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the feeling of her body pressed against his. Completely lost in contentment, he barely registered that the woman in his arms was struggling to break free from him.

"John Winchester! What has gotten into you!" she chided, "Can't you see I'm busy in the kitchen!"

"I'd like to get busy in the kitchen," he purred against her ear.

"Oh, you beast!" she swatted at him with a dish rag, "Not here in front of the windows! What will the neighbors think?"

"That we're the luckiest, happiest, most perfect couple on Earth."

He spun Mary around then leaned forward with her in his arms to teasingly nibble at the pearls around her throat.

"John no! Stop it!" she yelped, "One of the boys could walk in at any moment!"

As if on cue, he heard the clamor of running feet and looked up to see his first born bursting through the kitchen door.

"Dean!" he beamed at the younger man standing before him struggling to catch his breath, "You're looking sharp this morning!"

His son was indeed looking very handsome in his argyle sweater vest and pleated trousers. Clean cut and remarkably free of scars, Dean was the picture perfect example of an upstanding, well mannered young man. His face had such an aura of wide eyed innocence that John failed to notice the urgency etched into his features.

"Dad, you've gotta come quick!" he panted, "Sam's in terrible trouble!"

"What!" John snapped, nearly dropping Mary to the floor.

So much for the perfect life!

"Oh dear!" Mary gasped, "What ever is the matter?"

"Come on! He needs help!" Dean's voice cracked with panic as he ran back out the door.

John was instantly in soldier mode racing after Dean down the stairs and into the front yard.

"What are we dealing with, son?" he demanded, "Werewolves? Vampires? A coven of witches?"

"We're not playing make believe, Dad!" Dean scoffed, "This is serious! Look!"

John turned to look at the wrought iron fencing surrounding their yard. What he saw there stopped him dead in his tracks. Nothing in his Marine training or his vast knowledge of the occult could have prepared him for such a sight.

Sam, his college educated son, was stooped over, kneeling in the wet grass... with his head wedged firmly between the iron bars of the gate.

"Help! Dad! Help!" Sam grunted as he struggled to free himself, "I'm stuck! I'm stuck!"

"Oh no, Sammy! My poor baby!" Mary cried out.

"Can ya get him out of there, Dad? Huh, can ya?" Dean whimpered.

John knelt down beside his entrapped son, testing the strength of the bars.

"My God, Sam, how did this happen to you? Did a Poltergeist throw you into the gate?"

"What's a Poltergeist?" Sam gaped.

"I don't understand," John said, "Is the gate cursed in some way?"

"He did it to himself!" Dean blurted out, "I told him he couldn't fit his whole body through the bars, but he wouldn't listen! I was powerless to stop him!"

"Dean! You promised not to tell! Doofus!"

"Goober!"

"Boys! Enough!" Mary scolded then turned to her husband, "Oh John do something! This is the worst thing that's ever happened to us!"

"Seriously?" John nearly choked. "Wow, we do have the perfect life!"

It wasn't as if Sam had been dragged off by a Wendigo… though if he had been at least then John would have known what to do about it. Rectifying this act of blatant idiocy was beyond the scope of his experience.

"Oookay… tools! Surely I have tools! Dean, run to the shed and bring me a blow torch or a hack saw. Anything you can find that could cut through these bars!"

Dean obeyed his father and was back in an instant.

"Will this do, Daddy?" he asked hopefully, waving his found object in the air.

"Dean, that's a caulking gun!" John said aghast, "What the Hell is wrong with the two of you!"

"John! Temper!"

"Why are you yelling?" Dean's lower lip began to quiver, "I did the best I could!"

"You aren't sore at us are you, Dad?" Sam looked up from the bars with sad puppy dog eyes. "Please don't be sore!"

"Sore?" John sputtered, "Try _pissed_ if that word is even in your vocabulary! I can't wrap my brain around this! Even in a world with no real problems or paranormal threats how could you both grow up to be so helpless, incompetent and stupid?"

"We've skated through life on our good looks!" Dean sobbed.

Fighting the urge to throttle the sniveling man before him, John turned on his younger son instead.

"Sam, you were Pre-Law for crying out loud!" he raged, "What gave you the idea to stick that gigantic head of yours through the gate?"

Now it was Sam's turn to sob.

"It wasn't my fault!" he wailed, "Eddie Haskell triple dog dared me to do it! What other choice did I have?"

"Eddie who?" John blinked.

"I should have guessed," Mary said, "How many times have I told you boys to stay away from that Eddie Haskell! He's a bad influence and he's always up to no good!"

"But Mom, he has a boss car!" Dean protested through his sniffles, "How are we supposed to go anywhere if Eddie doesn't take us?"

"Why can't you just take the Impala?" John asked, incredulously.

"Oh! Can I?" Dean was instantly dry eyed, "Can I really Dad?"

"'May I'," Mary corrected, "I don't know, John. Do you think he's ready?"

"He's 27 years old, Mary!"

"Oh! Please, please, please say I'm ready!" Dean bounced up and down, "I'll be careful! I'll wear my seatbelt and use the turn signals! And I won't speed or play the radio too loud, I promise!"

"Help me get your brother out of this jam and you can crank your Metallica up to '11' for all I care!" John shook his head at the madness of it all.

"What's a Metallica?" Dean asked.

John was on him in a flash. He grabbed the boy by the collar and slammed his body up against the gate.

"Who are you and what have you done with my son!" he roared into Dean's face.

"Dad, my sweater!" Dean whined.

"OWW! Stop shaking the gate!" Sam whined louder.

At that moment, a red El Camino pulled up in the driveway and well groomed, but smarmy looking young man stepped out and approached the Winchesters.

"Good morning to you all!" he called out, an ill concealed smirk crossing his lips, "Goodness me, but I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time!"

"You and your dumb ideas, Eddie!" Sam griped, "Now I'm trapped here forever and Dad's been pounding on Dean and it's the worst day of my life!"

"But I might get to drive the Impala, so it's all ok," Dean said happily even as his father continued to thrash him against the gate.

"Who are you, kid? What do you want?" John snapped.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester, you are a witty one!" the man smarmed, "And how are you today, Mrs. Winchester? My but that's a lovely dress you're wearing."

"Don't you try to sweet talk me, Eddie Haskell!" Mary scolded, "Just look at the trouble you've caused! Why would you goad poor Sammy into doing such a foolish thing?"

"Gosh, Mrs. Winchester, I never would have dreamed he'd go through with it! I just don't know what possessed me!"

"Possessed?" John instantly released his grip on Dean and turned to the young stranger, "It's you, isn't it? You're the Demon! You're the one who started this whole mess!"

"Demon?" the man laughed nervously, "Oh, Mr. Winchester! Have you been reading Sam and Dean's Comic Books again?"

"Yeah, kid. Comic Books," John said menacingly, "I'll show you what I learned from Comic Books!"

He grabbed the iron bar beside Sam's head and wrenched it loose with his bare hands.

"I'm free!" Sam cheered.

But John was now raising the bar above his head, seething as he approached the perplexed Eddie Haskell.

"Demon be gone!" he bellowed and drove the bar straight through the young man's chest.

Eddie Haskell staggered back in horror, clutching at his gaping wound as he tumbled to the ground.

"John! What are you doing?" Mary shrieked.

John ignored her, pouncing on the fallen man and stabbing him over and over.

"You wrecked everything!" he howled, "You destroyed my happy family! You ruined my perfect life! Die you Yellow Eyed Bastard! DIE!"

His wife and sons were screaming behind him, begging him to stop, but their voices faded into the distance. He was aware only of the gush of warm blood splattering against his face and the satisfying sound of metal hacking through flesh and bone.

_THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!_

**********

John startled awake, coughing and sputtering at the deluge of warm liquid raining down upon his face.

He blinked his eyes open to see that the roof of his trailer was leaking right over his mattress.

"Good grief!" he groaned, sitting up.

He banged his head against the kitchen counter. Somehow the space between his mattress and the kitchen area had shrunk in the night.

How much worse could this place get?

_THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!_

He watched as his door bent inward in a series of axe shaped dents, threatening to tear through the aluminum at any moment. Before it could, he was on his feet, throwing open the door, snatching away the axe mid swing and punching Jack Torrance in the face.

"Here's Johnny," he dead panned.

"Oww!" Torrance whined, "I just wanted to borrow a cup of sugar!"

He lay sprawled in the mud, rubbing at his jaw. Behind him, Fred Sanford and Al Bundy sat in their lawn chairs pointing and snickering as they passed a bottle of Ripple between them. Homer Simpson was playing in the dirt as usual, oblivious to all the commotion.

"What's got you in such a grumpy mood this morning, neighbor?" Torrance asked, "Did you have one of those dreams where everything was perfect: your wife was an absolute doll, your children were innocent scamps and yet you still turned into a homicidal maniac by the end?"

John stared at the man.

"Something like that," he admitted.

"They love to mess with your mind around here," Torrance grinned devilishly.

"They also seem to have altered my trailer," John sighed, "It's smaller and the roof is leaking."

"Yeah, they do stuff like that if something happens to your kids that they decide is your fault," Bundy informed him.

"I'm dead!" John exclaimed, "How can anything else be my fault?"

"Oh, it can." Homer said, idly patting a mud pie, "'Cause see while you were asleep, Todd got killed by this super strong soldier guy and then Rod sold his soul to this Cross Roads lady to bring him back. Heh heh. Sucks to be you, Flanders!"

"For the last time, my name is Winchester!"

"That's what I meant. Winchester… oh, and Sam and Dean."

"What!" John snapped, "What happened to Sam and Dean?"

Homer twiddled his fingers nervously eyeing the axe that John still held in his grip.

"Uhhh… I'll be at Moe's!" he said before dashing into the Port-a-Potty.

"I'm afraid it's true, John." Dr. Jones strolled over from his house carrying a newspaper in his hands, "It seems your boys have landed in quite a heap of trouble."

"Let me see that!" John snatched the paper away, reading with mounting horror the recent events in his sons' lives.

"This deal your oldest son made, sacrificing himself to save his brother." Dr. Jones continued, "Apparently the Powers that Be consider that to be your bad influence."

"No! This can't be happening!" John moaned, "Dean only has a year to live… and the Yellow Eyed Demon is about to open the Devil's Gate and… what happens next? What happens next?!?"

John flipped frantically through the pages searching for further news.

"Wait…What is this? Communists? Crystal Skulls?... Aliens from Outer Space?!?!?"

"Oh, you've stumbled into the section about my boy," Dr. Jones said, taking the paper back, "As it turns out, I'm a grandfather! And my son didn't even know the kid existed! Ha! I suppose Junior will wind up down here in the slums with the rest of us...This bit about the alien skulls, though… that didn't make any sense to me either…"

"But what about my boys?" John grabbed the older man by the lapels, "What's happens to Sam and Dean?"

"I'm sorry, John," Dr. Jones sighed with sincere regret, "We won't know anything until the next edition comes out."

"No! No! Sam and Dean are in danger now!" John cried, "I can't just stand here when my sons need me! I have to do something! I have to help them!"

"Uhh, in case you haven't noticed, buddy," Torrance sneered, "There ain't nothin' you can do about it. You're dead and you're in Hell."

John turned on Torrance, fixing him with a look so venomous that the homicidal maniac gulped and shrank back in fear.

"In case you haven't noticed, buddy… I'm John Mother F*'n Winchester!"


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these guys. If I did, I would hand them all shovels and make them help me dig through all the SNOW!

* * *

_Previously:_

_"No! No! Sam and Dean are in danger now!" John cried, "I can't just stand here when my sons need me! I have to do something! I have to help them!"_

_"Uhh, in case you haven't noticed, buddy," Torrance sneered, "There ain't nothin' you can do about it. You're dead and you're in Hell."_

_John turned on Torrance, fixing him with a look so venomous that the homicidal maniac gulped and shrank back in fear._

_"In case you haven't noticed, buddy… I'm John Mother F*'n Winchester!"_

* * *

"All right, everybody. Listen up!" John shouted in his best Marine Drill Sergeant voice, "I'm busting out of here to save my sons and this is what I'll need: Rock Salt, Silver, Holy Water, any religious relic or artifact you can find. And iron. Lots and lots of iron!"

"Iron?" Sanford snorted, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, Sonny. There's a ton of scrap iron in my junk yard!"

"You still have a junk yard?" Torrance snickered.

"Hey, who says you can't take it with you!" the old man winked as he dashed off to collect the supplies John needed.

"I don't know if this counts as a Holy relic," Bundy scratched at his head, "But I've got lots of shoes with holes in them. And the smell's enough to put the fear of God in someone, that's for sure."

"At this point, I'm willing to take anything that could be used as a weapon," John said, "I'll need all the help I can get!"

Bundy saluted then dashed into his trailer to gather up the footwear. Dr. Jones had also retreated to his cottage and now returned with a canister of salt, an ornate cross on a long silver chain and a beautifully crafted Knight's sword. John stood in awe as the man unsheathed the weapon, holding it aloft in the dim sunlight.

"A little souvenir left over from obsession with King Arthur," he said proudly, "I've always been amazed the Powers that Be allowed me to keep it. I'm not sure what sort of dangers we'll be facing, but I'm with you all the way, John Winchester. You have my Sword!"

Sanford returned at that moment carrying part of a junked Bow-Flex and several arrow shaped bars from the remains of a wrought iron fence.

"And you have my Bow!" he said with a solemn nod.

"And you have my Axe!" Torrance spoke up at once.

"Thank you," John said, "Thank you my friends."

"No, you have my Axe!" Torrance snapped, "Give it back!"

He snatched his prized possession out of John's grip and then danced around like a maniac until he noticed all the other men glowering at him.

"Oh, and of course I'll be glad to help in this nut job scheme of yours to rescue Sam and Dean." he said, shuffling his feet.

"So, exactly how're you gonna manage to break on through to the other side," Bundy asked, his arms loaded down with several worn out pairs of shoes.

"According to this paper," John said, "The Yellow Eyed Demon is planning to open the Devil's Gate. It's positioned directly over the heart of Hell. When it opens, thousands of demons will be unleashed upon the Earth. But that'll be my way out as well."

"Then we must go where the Demons go," Jones quipped, "Below, below, below."

"What, so we're supposed to start tunneling our way through the mud?" Torrance scoffed, "Screw that, pal!"

John shook his head.

"Those jerks over at Eternal Estates said that their Guard Dogs would drag any trespassers down to the Pit. That means there has to be an entrance or passage way around here somewhere."

"But... we don't want to mess with those Hell Labradoodles!" Sanford gasped, "I mean those are some ferocious pedigree pooches!"

Before anyone could say another word, there was a loud _FLUSH!_ and Homer Simpson stepped out of the Port-A-Potty.

"Ahh!" he sighed, "That hit the spot! I pity the next fool that goes in there though. Heh heh."

The other men began to moan and gag as Simpson waved the door back and forth trying to air out the toilet. John turned his head against the stench, but then his eyes widened in revelation.

"Wait a minute!" he said, "Do you smell that?"

"Of course we smell that!" Torrance said, holding his nose, "Only Simpson could manage to create a stink stronger than Bundy's shoes!"

"No, that's not what I mean," John hissed impatiently, "There's an undercurrent..."

Dr. Jones took a curious whiff and his eyes grew wide as well.

"I see what you mean, John!" he said, "There's quite a distinct scent of sulfer and brimstone as if coming from the very bowels of Hell!"

"Well, excuse me, Dr. Hibbert!" Simpson sulked, "Like I'm so sure yours smells like roses!"

"Out of my way!" John growled, shoving Simpson aside, "The passageway must be under here! Help me push this thing over!"

Dr. Jones, Bundy and Sanford hurried over to help John while Torrance watched with an impish grin and Simpson obliviously picked the wax out of his ears. Together they managed to shove the Port-A-Potty over on its side, exposing the open sewer. John brought his arm up to cover his nose and mouth but then pulled himself together and began to climb down into the hole.

"You're not actually going in there..." Torrance grimaced.

"Damn straight I'm going in here," John said with steely determination, "I spent most of my life failing my boys at every turn. Now they need me more than ever before and I will literally crawl through the bowels of Hell if it means not failing them again! So, if you're man enough, follow me. And if not, then you can kiss my... AAAACKKK!!!"

John was stopped in his tracks as a large gloved hand reached out and caught him by the throat!

He began to cough and sputter, kicking weakly with his feet as the hand pulled him off the ladder and held him up by the neck. Eyes bugging, he stared down in shock at his captor- a large, imposing figure dressed all in black from his billowing full length cape to his shiny domed helmet. A black eyeless mask concealed the man's face and the sound of his hoarse, mechanical breathing chilled John to the bone.

His entire body began to shake as the man tightened his grip and spoke in a deep voice full of malice.

"Who dares trespass on Skywalker Manor!" hissed the masked man.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. If I did, I would have had them addressing Christmas Cards and licking stamps for me!

* * *

_Previously:_

_John was stopped in his tracks as a large gloved hand reached out and caught him by the throat!_

_He began to cough and sputter, kicking weakly with his feet as the hand pulled him off the ladder and held him up by the neck. Eyes bugging, he stared down in shock at his captor- a large, imposing figure dressed all in black from his billowing full length cape to his shiny domed helmet. A black eyeless mask concealed the man's face and the sound of his hoarse, mechanical breathing chilled John to the bone. _

_His entire body began to shake as the man tightened his grip and spoke in a deep voice full of malice._

_"Who dares trespass on Skywalker Manor!" said the masked man._

* * *

Sheer panic swept through John. Of all the supernatural creatures and demonic forces he'd faced in his lifetime, he'd never encountered a foe quite like this. Now, with Sam and Dean in mortal danger, he was about to have the life squeezed out of him by this... Wait a minute! What life? He was dead! What harm could this faceless asthmatic douche bag possibly do to him!

"Paws off the merchandise, buster!" he growled, giving the masked man a series of swift kicks to the groin and gut as he wrenched himself free.

"AARRGH!" the man howled, adjusting the armor at his crotch, "Insolent fool! No one enters Skywalker Manor without my consent..."

"This is the sewer!" John stated.

"Your point being?" the man spat back.

"Let him pass, Anakin!" Dr. Jones had climbed down into the sewer and now stood by John's side, "He's on a noble mission to save his boys!"

"You will address me as Lord Vader..." the man began, extending an index finger towards the Professor's face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Dr. Jones rolled his eyes, pushing the gloved hand away, "Let's go, John!"

"It's dark down here," John griped, "Can barely see two feet in front of me!"

Then he noticed the cylinder shaped object at Lord Douche Bag's belt.

"Gimme that flashlight!" John demanded, snatching the object away.

"That is not a flashlight!" Vader bellowed.

John gasped as a long beam of glowing red light shot forth from the cylinder and he instantly felt a powerful force thrumming through his arm. Mesmerized, he turned the device this way and that, watching as the blade of pure energy sliced through the air making an eerie humming sound with each pass.

"What is this thing?" he asked in awe.

"That _thing_ is a light saber," the Sith Lord hissed, his mask fogging up with fury, "The weapon of a Jedi Knight. You, John Winchester, are not a Jedi Knight!"

"Hey, can this thing kill demons?" John asked, holding the weapon at arm's length.

"I believe you need the Colt for that," Vader said mockingly, "You know. That _thing_ you just handed over to your mortal enemy?"

"Shut up!" John barked with enough fervor to send a tremor through the Sith Lord's cape, "I'm going deep into the heart of Hell, heading for the Devil's Gate. And I'm taking this overblown flashlight of yours with me! Got that?"

"Very well," Vader said sullenly, "Just be careful with it, Winchester. You wouldn't want to accidentally slice off one of your sons' hands with it like I did."

"Accidentally! BAH!" Dr. Jones snorted, "Go pull the other one, Anakin! Just like you 'accidentally' blew up your daughter's home planet. Exactly why do you think you wound up spending your Afterlife in the sewer?"

"Oh, come off it, _Henry!_ Hasn't your son made any spectacular archeological discoveries lately that you could be ignoring him for?"

"Never you mind all that," Dr. Jones said tersely, "You know this place better than the rest of us. Now kindly point us in the direction of the Devil's Gate!"

"Two corridors down and then take another left," Vader folded his arms and leaned back against the sewer wall like a sulking child, "There's a vent where the scent of burning flesh and the screams of the damned are particularly strong. I like to sit there sometimes and listen to sounds of torment. Reminds me of the good old days when I actually commanded a little respect."

"Fine. You'll get this back when I say you get it back," John said, jostling the light saber in his hand, "Follow me everyone!"

He held the glowing weapon aloft using it to light his way down the darkened corridors as Dr. Jones and the others trailed closely behind him.

"Excuse us, Lord Vader," Sanford and Bundy muttered as they brushed past the towering figure.

"Excuse me, Mr. Burns," Simpson said meekly passing by.

"Yo, Ani!" Torrance called out as he strutted down the hall with his axe resting casually against his shoulder, "We still on for Poker Saturday?"

"I suppose..." Vader sighed, keeping his arms folded in a petulant sulk.

"Solid!" Torrance pumped his fist, before colliding into Simpson who had stopped abruptly as the other men reached the vent.

John let the light saber's blade retract as the area where they now stood was sufficiently illuminated with Hell Fire. A scorching heat was emanating from the vent as was the stench of burning human flesh.

"Mmm... Barbeque..." Simpson uttered as John carefully removed the vent's covering.

The men peered over John's shoulder taking in the view that lay before them. A lake of molten lava twisted and turned like a serpent through a trail of jagged stalagmites. A slim stone bridge hung over the fiery lake, branching off in several different directions. Most of the paths lead into deep caves, from which could be heard the echoing cries of tortured souls much less fortunate than them. But the center path led straight to a set of solid metal doors.

"There it is," John said quietly, "The Devil's Gate."

Dr. Jones swallowed hard, surveying the scene. There was a multitude of billowing black clouds occasionally shifting into humanoid form as they danced about Gate.

"What are they, John?" he asked.

"Demons. Hundreds of them. And we'll have to fight our way through the whole mess of them."

"But how?" Bundy whined, "There's so many of them and they're all glommed up on one another. It'll be like trying to fight our way through a blue light special at K-Mart on Senior Citizen Day when they bused in all the bitties from the Old Folks' Home!"

John frowned, shaking his head thoughtfully. Then he reached for the cross Dr. Jones had brought and a bottle of water.

"What do you have in mind?" the Professor asked.

"Everybody hand me your weapons," John ordered as he said a quick blessing over the water and then poured the liquid over their meager arsenal, "This won't kill the Demons, but it might hold them off long enough for me to get to the Gate. If I'm close enough when it opens, I should be able to pass on through and get to Sam and Dean."

"Yeah, then what?" Torrance asked with an air of boredom as he twirled his newly consecrated axe.

"Let me worry about 'then what'," John snapped, "You just worry about keeping those demons off my back!"

"Well, aye aye, Captain," Torrance huffed giving John a one fingered salute.

"Just think about what a great novel this will make when it's all over," Dr. Jones rolled his eyes, "Might even be a best seller!"

"Hey yeah!" Torrance's eyes lit up with insane delight, "Maybe even a Pulitzer! Look out Demons! HEEEEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY!"

Axe raised he charged onto the bridge and straight into the hoard of Demons.

The other men shrugged and then followed suit howling battle cries of their own. And then the melee commenced.

Demons swarmed upon the tiny band of misfit fathers who brandished their weapons as if they were born soldiers.

Sanford held back at the entrance way, retrieving one iron arrow after another from his suspenders and sending them sailing into the Demonic forms closest to the Gate.

"He's coming, Elizabeth!" the old man taunted, impaling one Demon against a stalagmite before whipping around to skewer another, "So are you, Ugly!"

Bundy meanwhile trotted down the center of the bridge slinging shoes by their strings one by one like a middle-aged David against a sea of Goliaths, all the while chanting the mantra of: "That's Peg! That's Peg! That one there! That's Peg too!"

Simpson brought up the rear, dispatching Demons left and right with a set of mad Kung Fu skills that surprised and impressed the other men, especially John.

"That's Flanders!" he shouted, "That's Flanders! Yeah, you too, you're Flanders! Take that Flanders! HA HA HA!!"

John and Dr. Jones fought back to back, swinging sword and saber respectively as they made their way closer and closer to the Devil's Gate.

Suddenly there was a thunderous clanking sound that actually drowned out the dins of the tortured souls, the demons and the fathers who fought them. All heads turned to see the metal doors of the Gate creaking open, sending in a gush of fresh air from the Outer World. A bone chilling cheer of triumph erupted from the Demonic hoard as hundreds of black forms rushed for the exit.

"Now John!" Dr. Jones screamed, desperate to be heard over the cacophony of Demons soaring past him and into the night, "Now's your chance! Go!"

John started forward but was instantly halted as a sinister plume of black smoke curled its way around his ankles and up the length of his body to rest at his shoulders. He felt the shape around him shift into the form of a lithe woman, her arms and legs wrapped around him in a parody of seduction. He didn't have to turn to see demon's form. He recognized the sultry voice at once.

"Hello again, Johnny," the demon purred in his ear.

"Meg," he grunted, struggling in the girl's grasp.

"Oh, Johnny!" the She-Demon giggled, "You remember. I'm so glad you could stop by in time for the show. My Daddy's about to slaughter your precious little boys. And you get to stand here and watch it all go down."

All at once there was another presence behind Meg, a gloved hand reaching out and clamping down on her collar bone.

"He doesn't need to watch it all go down," a deep voice spoke.

"You don't need to watch it all go down," Meg parroted robotically.

"He can go about his business," the voice intoned.

"You can go about your business," Meg said climbing down from John.

"Move along!" the voice said at last.

"Move along!" Meg chirped, skipping merrily towards the Lake of Fire.

John looked up in awe to see the Sith Lord standing before him with his hands on his hips.

"P.S. These aren't the droids you're looking for." he quipped.

"I… I was looking for droids…?" Meg uttered in confusion before tripping backwards into the Pit.

John continued to stare speechless at his unlikely savior.

"I got lonely," the Sith Lord shrugged.

"And maybe you were missing this," John said humbly, returning the weapon in his hands, "Your light saber, Lord Vader!"

"Thank you!" the masked man nodded, "Call me, Anakin!"

"Hurry John!" Dr. Jones urged, holding one of the doors at bay as Simpson and Bundy flattened their backs against the other, "There's someone on the outside pushing the doors closed!"

John didn't have to be told twice. He took a running start, charging forward into night.

"Hang on, Boys! I'm on my way!"

* * *

**Author's Note: Ah, yes. It was oddly satisfying to have Darth Vader Jedi mind-trick Meg! Hope everyone enjoyed the action in this one!**

**A big 'ol thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and favoriting this story. It's been a rough week and you have no idea how much your comments have lifted my spirits! Hugs, kisses and Candy Canes!... (Or would you prefer Sam and Dean Strip-O-Grams?)**

**As always Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. Any of them.

MAJOR SPOILERS for "All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 2."

* * *

"_Hurry John!" Dr. Jones urged, holding one of the doors at bay as Simpson and Bundy flattened their backs against the other, "There's someone on the outside pushing the doors closed!"_

_John didn't have to be told twice. He took a running start, charging forward into night._

"_Hang on, Boys! I'm on my way!"_

* * *

Making his way through the Devil's Gate, John saw exactly who was trying to close the doors from the outside. Ellen Harvelle was on one end, pushing with all her might. Man, she looked great! And she was a lot stronger than he remembered as she nearly forced him back into Hell when he attempted to exit on her side.

Moving over to the opposite door, John saw Bobby Singer straining to finish closing the Gate. Though his main concern was for his children, John couldn't help but take a small pleasure in shoving back against the older hunter, nearly knocking the man on his butt as he forced his way through the door.

"Take my spot at the Country Club will ya," John thought bitterly.

However, all such trivialities left his mind completely when he caught sight of his sons and the state they were in.

Sam was pinned up against a tree, struggling against the invisible force that held him there, his feet barely touching the ground. But the more pressing matter was Dean. The older boy lay slumped against a tombstone, blood trickling down the left side of his nose from a deep gash at his hair line. His eyes were fixed defiantly on the figure standing before him.

It was the Yellow Eyed Demon himself. And he was pointing the Colt directly at Dean's skull!

John flew forward, propelled by pure hatred and rage. His intangible hands slid effortlessly through the flesh and bone of the hapless, long dead janitor that the Demon had been wearing as his meat suit. With every ounce of force that he could muster, John wrapped his hands around the core of the Demon's essence in a strangle hold and wrenched him out of the human body he inhabited. The corpse of the poor janitor dropped to the ground, the Colt slipping from his limp hand as John struggled to maintain his grip on his greatest foe.

"Got you now, you bastard!" he growled in triumph.

The Demon writhed and slithered in his grasp, but John held tight until he saw Dean lean forward to recapture the fallen Colt. Then he let go so suddenly that the Demon plummeted back into the dead body, thick black smoke sinking back into the corpse's gaping mouth. The body leapt up at once, his glowing yellow eyes fixed upon John with utter astonishment.

He didn't have long to ponder the man's miraculous appearance, for in the very next instant Dean pulled the trigger, sending the Colt's final bullet straight into the Demon's heart. He looked down in disbelief at the mortal wound in his chest then gave one final glance at John before the light faded from his yellow eyes. His body dropped to the ground once more and his demonic life-force dissipated in a pathetic tendril of fading grey smoke.

And just like that, it was over. The creature John had devoted his entire life to hunting, the fiend who had murdered his beautiful wife and ruined his happy family, was gone. All that was left was all that mattered: The sons John had raised to destroy such monsters.

Sam dropped down from the tree just as Dean managed to pick himself up off the ground. They both stood, staring in awe at their father.

John could barely contain himself. Incorporeal as he was, he could still feel the tears falling hot and wet down his cheeks as he looked into the faces of his beloved boys. Curious to see if he could actually make contact, he stepped forward and reached a hand out towards Dean. To his delight, it landed solidly enough on the young man's shoulder and he kept it there, beaming with pride.

Dean. His Dean... Still a great shot!

Out of corner of his eye he saw his younger son moving timidly in his direction. He turned and gifted Sammy with the same prideful smile.

His boys. He loved them more than they could ever know. There was so much he wanted to say to them, but now he felt himself beginning to fade. He stepped back to take in the sight of his sons standing tall together, watching him move away with a mixture of love and sorrow. He held on for as long as he could, drinking in the moment in the hopes that he could keep it with him where ever the Powers that Be saw fit to send him next.

"I love you, Sons!" was his last thought as a blinding flash of light carried him away from this earthly plane.

***********

"Barbeque?" was his first thought upon finding himself once again in the Afterworld.

John sat up bolt right, gasping as he took in his new surroundings. He was lying in a comfortable twin sized bed in a fairly spacious room. Not the trailer, nor the luxurious house from his dream. But something in between the two extremes. Was he dreaming again? He stood up cautiously and moved towards the window determined to find out.

Peering outside, he saw a series of nicely kept lawns and cozy looking houses. The sky was a welcoming blue and the grass was a soothing green, but it wasn't the picture perfect scene he had dreamed about and it didn't have the cold immaculacy of Eternal Estates. Overall, it looked like a place he could live pretty happily in.

The scrumptious scent of seasoned meat sizzling over an open flame soon drew him out the front door and onto the lawn where he encountered three men he had never seen before. They were all hovering around a large grill, tending to the meat as they casually sipped from bottles of ice cold beer! John's eyes lit up with joy as he saw a cooler full of the wondrous beverage. The men looked up as he approached, greeting him with friendly smiles.

"Hey! It's the new guy!" a portly man in a flannel shirt called out, raising his beer in a toast before grabbing John's hand in a firm shake, "Dan Connor, pleased to meet you, neighbor!"

"Like wise," John smiled, "John Winchester."

"Winchester!" a dapper man with sleek black hair cried out cheerfully as he removed an elegant cigar from his teeth, "Yes, of course! I've heard all about you, Old Sport! Gomez Addams at your service!"

"Nice to meet you," John said taking the pale man's hand.

"I believe you hunted down several of my cousins!" Addams beamed with sinister delight, "Oh, what stories we can share!"

"Uhh... sure..."

John chuckled nervously then noticed the other men staring at him strangely.

"I used to hunt down demons and other supernatural creatures," he explained.

"Oh..." a man with a flat hair cut and thick square glasses said uncomfortably, "I sold Propane and Propane accessories. And that was a very important and dangerous job too. Hank Hill's my name. Would you care for a beer, Mr. Winchester?"

"I would love a beer!" John sighed with relief.

After everything he had been through, John could have kissed the man who offered him an icy cold one. He settled for wrapping his lips around the bottle and drinking in the smooth amber liquid. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life… let alone his afterlife.

"So, I take it this is Heaven?" he asked to the boisterous laughter of the other men.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe," Dan Connor chuckled, "I think those jerks over at Eternal Estates would tell you this is yet another part of Hell. The folks around here, we weren't the most perfect fathers. But we loved our kids and we did the best we could by 'em."

"It might not have earned us a spot at the Country Club," Hank Hill continued, "But the sky is always sunny enough to cook out on the grill and we never seem to run out of beer."

"Hey, like I said. Heaven!" John said, raising his drink in a toast, "To all us imperfect fathers who did the best we could!"

"Here, here!" Addams called out as the men clinked bottles.

John could not wipe the grin off his face. At last this felt right.

If he had been given another chance at life, he would have changed many things about how he raised his boys that was for sure. But as it turned out, he'd done all right by them. He knew his boys would face many more hardships and he wished he could be there to watch over them and guide them. But it seemed his time for that had ended. He would miss them there was no doubt of that. Still, if this was where the Powers that Be decided he deserved to be then he was going to kick back and enjoy his eternal reward.

John leaned back contentedly as he drained the last drop of beer. And he spent the rest of Eternity happily ever after…

… Or did he?

_to be continued…_

_

* * *

_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uh oh!**


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters… except the doggies.

WARNING: Some graphic images.

MAJOR HUMONGOUS SAMMY SIZED SPOILERS for "Jump the Shark". Also brief mentions of events in "Dead Man's Blood" and "After School Special"

_John leaned back contentedly as he drained the last drop of beer. And he spent the rest of Eternity happily ever after…_

… _Or did he?_

Years had passed. It could have been centuries for all John knew. He spent his days out on the lawn grilling meat, drinking beer and chatting with his new friends. Nights were spent sleeping in a comfy bed dreaming of good times with his sons and the hunts that went well. In the mornings, he would awaken refreshed and ready to start the day all over again. He and his neighbors all agreed that this was about as close to perfect as they could ever hope for.

The only regret he had was that the WEEKLY NEWS wasn't delivered to this part of the Afterworld. It would have been nice to be able to keep up with what his boys were doing and to know if they were all right. He missed them. He worried about them. He wished there was some way he could still watch over them and guide them. And in the midst of all the beer, barbeque and pleasant conversation, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten about something very important...

"You're miles away as usual, Winchester," Dan Connor noted as he flipped a thick burger on the grill, "Thinking about your boys again?"

"Is it that obvious?" John chuckled.

"Hey, we all miss our kids," Connor shrugged, passing John a beer, "But at least we have our memories. Between the four of us, we've got an Eternity of stories to swap!"

"Yes indeed!" Addams said with a devilish gleam in his eyes, "Tell us again about the time you and your sons raided that Vampire Nest to retrieve the Colt! And spare no details about each and every decapitation!"

"Please! I am eating!" Hank Hill groaned, "I'd rather hear about your werewolf hunt in the Summer of '97. That one had camping in it at least."

"Yeah, didn't you ever just take your boys out camping or fishing or some other wholesome father/son activities when there wasn't some monster to hunt?" Connor wanted to know.

"There was always a monster to hunt," John shook his head, "But I do have vague memories of fishing and camping and even a ballgame. But that wasn't with Sam and Dean. That was..."

Suddenly, John felt something tugging at his pants leg. He looked down to see a small brown dog with a wooly coat and floppy ears chewing and pulling at the hem of his jeans. The dog looked up at him, its soulful button eyes blinking through a shaggy mass of fur. John cocked a bemused eyebrow at the creature.

"Whose doggie?" he asked looking back to his friends.

To his astonishment all three men were staring back at him, ashen faced and frozen in horror. Addams's cigar slid out of his mouth and Hill let his beer slip from his fingers to shatter on the patio steps below.

"Guys?" John said in concern, "What's the matter?"

And then he heard it. A low growl coming from just beyond the picket fence surrounding the yard.

"Guys...?" John questioned again.

The clatter of plates, spilt beer and hastily dropped barbeque tongs was his only reply as the other men fled at once into their respective homes leaving John alone and exposed.

And then the air was filled with a cacophony of high pitched yips and yowls as the fence began to tremble from some unseen force. John made a move to retreat into his own home but a pair of fluffy paws wrapped around his ankle holding him firmly in place. The tiny dog at his feet bared its small sharp teeth through a thick muzzle of curly fur. In the next instant, the fence was downed and dozens of similar dogs of varying colors and sizes sat growling, their teeth bared, their button eyes fixed directly on John.

Realization dawned on him at once. He knew what they were. He knew they had come for him. What he didn't know was why. There was no time to ponder the matter, however, for in a flurry of fluffy fur and a clamor of pedicured paws the Hell Labradoodles attacked!

John cried out as he was knocked down by the brute force of those shaggy dogs, their teeth tugging at his clothes, dragging him bodily across the lawn. He struggled against them, his fists and feet striking out only to bounce back ineffectually as they made contact with the dogs' thick wool coats.

"Let me go!" John roared, "Let me go you mixed up mutt Sonsof...BLAH!"

He gagged as the smallest dog forced its muzzle into his face, licking over his beard and mouth in a trail of slobber.

The dogs bore him up as they made their way out onto the street towards an open manhole.

"No! No! No!" John screamed, "Not the sewer! Not the sewer!"

He reached out, his hands clawing against the asphalt as he struggled desperately for purchase. The Hell Labradoodles merely nipped and licked at his fingers, breaking any hold he managed to grasp and soon he was falling down into the dank dark hole. He squeezed his eyes shut, screaming as his body tumbled in a downward spiral.

And then he landed suddenly with a splash, face down in the swampy mud.

"What the FUGH!" he began before the littlest Labradoodle cut him off with another sloppy doggie kiss.

The Hell Puppy snuffled and slurped affectionately over John's various scrapes and scratches before scampering off into the distance leaving him to pull himself up from the mud and take in his new surroundings.

He recognized the neighborhood at once, as well as his neighbors.

"Oh... Here's Johnny," Jack Torrance said, cocking an eyebrow over his playing cards, "Johnny Winchester, that is..."

"Just can't stay out of trouble, eh Johnny boy?" Darth Vader intoned, raising a cigar to his mask.

"Heh. Flanders sucks!" Homer Simpson snickered idly running his hands through a pile of poker chips.

"Ah! Finally a looker down here!" a woman John had never seen before said lustily, "I'm Pamela. Pamela Voorhees."

"She tunneled her way over here from the special circle of Hell reserved for bad mothers," Torrance explained, "Never misses Poker night!"

"Oh, but I'm not really a bad mother," Mrs. Voorhees insisted, "I loved my sweet baby Jason! Here let me show you some pictures!"

"Ugh! Please! Not the photo album! This could go on all night," Vader heaved a deep sigh as the woman reached into her purse and then crawled over towards the puzzled John.

"Here he in his little head sack." she gushed, "He made it himself out of a pillow case. So creative, my Jason. And here he is with his hockey mask. Mommy's handsome little man... oh and here he's holding up his machete after his first kill! Mommy was so proud..."

"Excuse me!" John sputtered, "But what the Hell!"

"Ok, so maybe my Jason's not the most handsome or clever boy," Mrs. Voorhees pouted, "But he just needs a little male guidance. He needs a Step Father... Are you single?"

"I mean what the Hell am I doing here?" John exclaimed.

"Did you really think the Powers that Be wouldn't find out?" Torrance sneered.

"Find out about what?" John snapped, "Has something happened to Sam or Dean?"

"Well, let's see," Vader donned a large pair of spectacles and flipped open a copy of AFTERWORLD WEEKLY NEWS, "Dean is suffering from severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after spending the equivalent of 40 years in the Pit and Sam is guzzling down Demon Blood like there's no tomorrow. But that's not the problem. The real issue seems to be with your youngest son."

"Wait," John frowned in confusion, "You just said Sammy drinking Demon Blood wasn't the problem..."

"Precisely," Vader stated, "The real issue is with your _youngest_ son."

"Don't tell us you don't remember," Torrance grinned mischievously, "19 years ago... Skanky nurse in Minnesota..."

"But... OH CRAP!" John gasped, a horrible realization dawning on him.

"Hi Dad." a youthful voice spoke up from behind.

John spun around to see a deathly pale and sullen teen standing on the outskirts of the swamp.

"Adam!" he cried, "Hello, son... uhh...G...good to see you. You're...ahh... you're looking well..."

The boy's face screwed up in fury as he lifted his tattered T-shirt to show his exposed entrails, eliciting a gasp from the onlookers.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Voorhees uttered, "Did my Jason do that to you?"

"No!" Adam sulked, "I got eaten by ghouls, Dad! The offspring of the ghoul you killed when you met Mom!"

"Oh my God," John croaked out, "Adam! Son, I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry doesn't put guts back in, Dad!" the teen huffed, "Sorry doesn't bring me back to life!"

"Adam," John stammered, "I truly am sorry this horrible thing happened to you. But what could I have done?"

"Oh, I don't know," the boy snapped, "Maybe some of the same combat training your other sons got? Maybe a little heads up that monsters were real... You know, something other than all the lame fishing trips and baseball games you took me to."

"Please try to understand, son," John said sadly, "I only did those fun things with you because I wanted you to have the life I couldn't give your brothers. When you came about, I saw you as a clean slate... a fresh start. I didn't want you to have to grow up knowing about all the horrors in the dark. I wanted you to live a normal life... not always looking out for monsters in the shadows..."

"Well, that's just super, Dad. 'Cause the monsters in the shadows still came and got me!"

The boy broke down suddenly.

"And now, I'm stuck for all Eternity in the special circle of Hell reserved for secret third siblings who were eaten by ghouls!" he sniffled, wiping his nose on his tattered sleeve, "Do you know what a lonely place that is? There's no one to keep me company but the forgotten Olsen triplet!"

A waifish blonde girl appeared suddenly behind Adam.

"Yeah, ghouls suck, ok?" she pouted.

John gaped briefly at the young woman before pulling himself together and turning back to his son.

"Adam... I'm really sorry. What else can I say? If I could find a way out of here, I swear I would hunt down the monsters who did this to you!"

"Don't even bother," the teen scoffed, "Your precious older sons have it covered... well Dean does at least. The ghouls tried to chow down on Sam, but Dean got there in the nick of time as usual."

"Yeah," John said proudly, "Dean always was good at looking out for his little brother."

"I wouldn't know," Adam snotted, "I was Dean's little brother too, but he didn't even know I existed... until I got eaten by a ghoul!"

"Yeah, we heard you the first thousand times, kid!" Torrance griped.

"Good Lord!" Vader spat, "This boy's whinier than my Luke! Chop his hand off, Winchester. That'll give him something to really whine about."

"Ghouls ate my hand, Mister!" Adam sassed.

"Are we gonna play cards or what?" Mrs. Voorhees snapped, "I didn't tunnel my way through the muck to listen to this brat yammer on all night! Forget what I said about wanting a Step Dad for Jason, Winchester. I don't think our boys would get along!"

"See ya around, Pops," Adam said taking the forgotten Olsen triplet's hand in his and stomping off, "Thanks for nothing!"

"Bye Todd, Jr." Homer called out to the young man.

John bowed his head in sorrow. No matter what he did, he always seemed to screw up in someway.

"Yo, Winchester!" Torrance interrupted his doleful thoughts, "Want in the game? We could use a better fourth."

He jerked his thumb towards Homer who was scratching his head as he stared at the cards in his hand.

"Go Fish!" he said at last, laying down a Royal Flush.

John stared after his youngest son fading in the distance, his heart breaking. It was too late for Adam. But maybe there was still a chance he could find a way to help Sam and Dean. He'd done it before after all and he could do it again. The Powers that Be couldn't keep him down here in the muck forever. He was John Winchester, damn it! Somehow, someday he would find a way to redeem himself. He would show them all! But in the meantime...

"Yeah, deal me in," he sighed settling down beside Mrs. Voorhees.

THE END

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah, Poor John. I actually hated to do that to him, but I felt I couldn't ignore "Jump the Shark" I tried to soften the blow by having the Hell Labradoodles lick his wounds and also tried to give him a little hope at the end.**

**Thank you so much to everyone left reviews or made this story their favorite. It has meant so much to me. More than you could really know. I try to respond to everyone individually when I can. **

**If you liked this crazy story, please review and comment. I love to hear what you think! :-)! I'm good about replying back and I've met a lot of great folks through these reviews!**


End file.
